


That Dreams Are Made of This

by spikesgirl58



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E.
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-12
Updated: 2014-01-12
Packaged: 2018-01-08 13:08:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 722
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1133021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spikesgirl58/pseuds/spikesgirl58
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"We died, together, of old age.”</p><p>“You and me?  Of old age?   And this was a nightmare?”  Illya chuckled and flopped back on his pillow as he ran a hand through his hair.  “In a career in which my life expectancy is frequently measured in hours, if not minutes, dying of old age doesn’t sound that bad, Napoleon, and at any rate, that is still a long way off.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	That Dreams Are Made of This

Slowly, painfully, Napoleon Solo approached the hospital bed.  The body in it was so frail, nothing like the man he knew, nothing like the men they had been.  Years of abuse had caught up with them.  He sat slowly, stiffened joints making it almost more agony than he could bear.

He reached out a hand, twisted and gnarled with arthritis, and pressed it to a thin shoulder.  The head moved slightly, although the cloudy blue eyes took a moment to register and recognize him.

“Hey, partner.”  Napoleon tried to keep his voice even and light.

“Always… just in time.”   Illya’s voice was tight from the pain that ravaged his body, pain that came from just being old.  

“That’s me, better late than never.”

“Almost too late… I think.”

“What kind of talk is that?”

“The talk… of an old man… tired of living, Napoleon.  I’m… just so damn… tired.”

“I know, old friend, me too. Still, it’s been a helluva ride and who’d have thought of us dying of old age.”

“Agreed.”  Illya stopped, struggling for a breath.  “Thanks… it’s been fun.”  He closed his eyes, frowning, as if listening to an inaudible voice.  ” See you… on the … other side…”  One more breath and the gray head lolled on the pillow.  Napoleon didn’t need the monitor beside him to tell him his friend was gone.  He felt something indiscernible tell him Illya had left and only a shell remained behind.

He took Illya’s hand and felt a sharp pain in his heart.  No regrets, but sadness and desperation, almost more than he could bear, surged up, numbing him.  He couldn’t believe Illya was gone, and then he realized how heavy his chest was and he smiled slightly, recognizing the symptoms.  Quietly and without alerting anyone, he let himself slip into the unconsciousness brought on by the onset of a heart attack.  Just like in life, they’d face death together as well.

 

Napoleon Solo sat straight up in bed, his heart pounding and his breath nearly strangled in his throat.  He blinked away unshed tears and swallowed at the lump in his throat that threatened to choke him. Almost immediately, there was movement to his right and a light came on.  From the nearby bed, his partner blinked sleepily at him.

“Napoleon?”  Illya rubbed a broad hand over his face.  “Are you okay?”

“Bad dream… nightmare.”  He didn’t have to explain more.  Surely, in their line of work, they were due the odd bad dream or two.    He didn’t have to, but equally felt compelled to.  “I watched you die of old age.”

“Old age?”

“So was I… we died, together, of old age.”

“You and me?  Of old age?   And this was a nightmare?”  Illya chuckled and flopped back on his pillow as he ran a hand through his hair.  “In a career in which my life expectancy is frequently measured in hours, if not minutes, dying of old age doesn’t sound that bad, Napoleon, and at any rate, that is still a long way off.”

“You’re right.  Guess you had to be there.”

“Believe me when I say, I hope that I am.  Are you okay?  We really need to get some sleep.  Six o’clock comes very early.”

“Six o’clock?”

“Napoleon,” Illya scolded.  “The courier drop?  On B street?  We mess that up and the Old Man will have us on a desk until we really do die of old age… or boredom.”

“Forgot about that.”  Napoleon clicked off the light and settled back.   He was almost immediately asleep.

                                                

                                                                                ****

“Is the formula ready?”

“ _Ja, Herr Doktor._ ”   The woman studied the beaker of light blue fluid, holding it up to a light.  “Just one cc. of this will age a man ten years, possibly more.  With the proper dosage, you could age a man forty years in the space of a few days.”

“Excellent.”  The man limped to a nearby console and his scarred and twisted hand reaching for a file.  Awkwardly he carried it to a table and two guards snapped to attention as he slapped it down.  Two dossier photos slipped out and he pushed them towards the guards.  “Courier drop, B St.  Bring them to me.”  He smiled thinly at the black and white photos of the American and his Russian partner.  “I think we have something they’ll like…”

 

 

 

 


End file.
